


Peacock Blue

by Railyard_Ghosts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Boys Kissing, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Railyard_Ghosts/pseuds/Railyard_Ghosts
Summary: It was large and long and filled up the otherwise-empty space in his office; the frame was deep red mahogany wood, and fabric was stain-resistant velveteen. It would be easy to zip off the covers and clean them, and just as easy to spot clean as he wished. The pillows were deep jewel green, and the exact shade of the sofa itself called peacock blue.Best of all, the seat was extra wide. Wide enough that Gladio laughed, “Igs, that looks more like a bed than a couch,” when he saw it.It was perfect.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	Peacock Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilium_elendir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilium_elendir/gifts).



> Surprise, Lili, I'm your Gladnis gift writer!!! I'm so sorry this is so late, but I hope it meets all of your requirements! Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write for you!

When the time finally came that Ignis earned his own office in the Citadel, he fussed very little over the furnishings; the desk that was already there was perfectly fine to write on, the large window overlooking the Crown City needed almost nothing for dressings, and the padded chair at the desk was just fine, thank you – but when it came to the sofa, he instantly had it removed. 

A harried search for a replacement followed. 

It took weeks. 

Fifteen sofas came to the delivery dock and were sent back when they weren’t _right_ . At least eight more made it to his office and were rejected at the last minute. Ignis couldn’t count how many he touched in the months that followed, or how much he’d fussed and _agonized_ over finding the “right” sofa, and he couldn’t tell anyone what he wanted in one either. _‘I’ll know it when I see it,’_ he snipped at a mover who dared grouse at him under their breath as they hauled yet another obnoxiously large piece of furniture out of his office and back to the freight elevator. 

Three months later, the _right_ sofa finally made it into his possession. It was large and long and filled up the otherwise-empty space in his office; the frame was deep red mahogany wood, and fabric was stain-resistant velveteen. It would be easy to zip off the covers and clean them, and just as easy to spot clean as he wished. The pillows were deep jewel green, and the exact shade of the sofa itself called _peacock blue_. 

Best of all, the seat was extra wide. Wide enough that Gladio laughed, _“Igs, that looks more like a bed than a couch,”_ when he saw it. 

It was perfect. 

* * *

The sofa was put to good use in the months that followed. 

Noct was the first to sleep on it between school and council meetings; he’d lie on his back with his socks, shoes, and blazer off, and wake up on his side with a blanket and a soft, sweet urge from his Advisor that it was time to wake up. 

Prompto crashed on it next after self-defense training, a face-down, boneless pile of knees and elbows and hands and feet, lacking _any_ and _all_ manner and decorum when he slept in Iggy’s office. 

And Gladio… 

It was in the middle of the day when Gladio fell asleep on the couch for the first time. He started out leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nose buried in a paperback book half the size of his hands. When Ignis checked again at the end of the day, the book was on the floor and the Behemoth of a man passed out; Gladio’s tree-trunk legs stretched out toward the unlit fireplace, muscular upper body sagged into the velveteen pillows, and his broad chest rose and fell with each deep, steady breath… 

…and Ignis had given in to the sight more than once; rather than wake his sleeping lover, he slotted himself under one of Gladio’s great arms, rested his head on his broad shoulder, and let himself nod off instead. 

It was the best sleep he ever had on that couch. 

Summer came; summer went. Autumn settled in quickly, but refused to leave and tormented Ignis with migraines as the temperature rose and fell, rose and fell, and rose and fell, over and over again, until finally Autumn was pushed out by Winter and the holidays came shortly after. Red bows began appearing on doorways and shiny gold bells on the lapels of Citadel staff. White fell from the sky and muffled the Crown City until it was smothered into silence; green garland wound around stairwells and banisters, and music on the radio began to sound … _festive_. 

Then, overnight, the Citadel exploded with Solstice decorations: a gigantic tree decorated in the secondary royal colors of blue and silver stood two stories tall in the main lobby and the otherwise-ambient overhead music changed to songs about _Solstice_ and _gifts_ and _jingling bells_. Not even the throne room was safe, but someone somewhere had the good sense to stick with blue and silver banners and ribbons instead of daring for red and green garlands. 

Not even his office was spared. 

Not even the _couch_. The black blanket he kept tossed over the back for tired visitors was taken, folded, and placed elsewhere, and replaced by a black and blue fleece thing with a Solstice tree printed on it. A blanket was a blanket, Ignis groused to himself when he saw it, and besides, no one had come by to sleep in his office lately anyway. Noct tended to hole himself up in his apartment after working late with his father and public appearances; Prompto always made some thinly-veiled excuse about needing to be home for his parents; and Gladio budgeted his time well so they always drive home together at the end of their days. 

As the end of the month inched ever closer – hour by hour, day by day – Ignis found himself napping in his own office more than usual; half days, full days, late days – time seemed to matter less when solstice season rolled around, but the comfort of the sofa made it easier to bear. 

Somewhere, a door opened and closed, and the tumbler in the lock fell into place. Ignis heard it, the sound registering in both his eardrums and busy brain, yet he found himself too tired and comfortable to do anything about it. Heavy shoes followed, slow and steady, and when a single broad, strong hand scooped up his ankles, he was forced to wake up the rest of the way and open his eyes. 

“Hey, Iggy.” Gladio flopped hard onto the couch, still in his Guard uniform, and plopped Ignis’s socked feet onto his lap. “You look exhausted.” 

“Hm,” hummed Ignis, shifting only enough to accommodate; he scooted slightly further down on the couch and dragged the pillow under his head with him. “I fear the loss of sunlight always gets under my skin.” 

“Sure, blame the sun,” said the behemoth of a man, grinning with all teeth showing. “Couldn’t possibly be because you’re determined to work yourself to death.” 

“Are you at least going to rub my feet while you taunt me?” 

“If it keeps you off of ‘em, sure,” Gladio said, grinning still as he set his hands to work. Ignis sighed as he settled his head back, arms draping over his middle as he returned to the comfort found earlier. 

Silence fell over them; a clock ticked somewhere in his office. Sometimes someone walked too loudly in the hall or too close to the door and their muffled voice trickled in. He barely felt when Gladio switched from one foot to the other and paused to pull his socks off, dropping them on the floor by his dress shoes to get at his toes; he even pushed Ignis’s slacks up to his knees to get at his legs. When Gladio spoke again, his gravelly voice was soft; reverent, almost. 

“Dad wants to make sure you’ll be at our Solstice dinner.” 

Ignis couldn’t bring himself to immediately answer; he was too comfortable in the deep, warm doze on the borders of sleep, and thinking about the impending holiday made him feel … well … it made him feel something _else_ he couldn’t quite describe. After the fallout with his Uncle months ago, family holidays and events and dinners felt … different. Foreign even. Before the fall, the holiday was only cold and unfeeling; now, he almost felt nothing. 

“I … wouldn’t want to make a nuisance of myself.” 

“Igs. You live with us.” 

“Don’t you want to spend time with your family?” 

“ _Ignis._ You _are_ part of my family.” 

Ignis parted his lips to reply, yet hesitated a second too long. 

“So I’ll let ‘em know you’ll be there,” said Gladio, effectively cutting him off with that roguish grin. He pressed his thumb into a pressure point in the soft spot of his knee and Ignis hissed in response, face screwing up. 

“All right,” he relented, and Gladio lifted his thumb; the pressure relieved almost instantly, and Ignis sighed a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “What should I wear?” 

“Funny you ask that.” The broad hand on his leg now clutched his ankle and held it in place as the titan of a man bent in half, reaching for something on the floor. Ignis propped himself up on his elbows as he watched him draw up a box from the floor, and raised his eyebrows as the mystery object revealed itself: a box, wrapped in silver paper and crowned with a royal blue bow. 

“Happy Solstice, Igs,” said Gladio with his typical toothy grin. 

Ignis sat up, taking the box between his hands as if it might break. “Gladio, you didn’t have to—” 

“I wanted to. Open it.” 

And again, he could do nothing but sigh and smile, defeated by Gladio’s persistence again. He picked at the corner with careful fingers, pulling open the blue ribbon and tearing through the silver paper. Nothing but white underneath – generic department store gift box – and Gladio wadded up the shed paper as he laid it in his lap and opened it. 

“Oh, _Gladio,_ ” Ignis said, sucking in a breath at what he saw. 

Green. Knit. Fuzzy beneath his fingers without being rough or frizzy. His hands nearly shook as he grasped the collar of the sweater and lifted it out of the box, and Gladio swiped the cardboard from his lap and dropped it to the floor with the rest of the wrapping. 

“Saw you eyeballing it on our last date and knew you’d never get it for yourself.” 

“Oh Gladio,” Ignis said again, his smile broad to the point it almost hurt, yet he couldn’t—he couldn’t _stop_ _smiling._ Sage green Garula wool, a designer brand he always liked yet rarely bought, a warm high collar, and one of his favorite colors. 

It was _perfect_. 

Ignis tore his eyes from the sweater to press a kiss to Gladio’s scruffy jaw; the other, larger man felt warm against his lips. 

“Wear that,” Gladio rumbled, pleased. “It’ll make your shoulders look nice.” 

“Hm, you said something similar about those yoga pants you bought me,” Ignis teased, now nosing his jaw. 

“And I was _right._ They make your ass look _amazing._ ” 

A laugh bubbled up within him, and this time, Ignis did nothing to stop it. He lowered the sweater to his lap and leaned sideways into the larger body next to him, and the thick arm on the back of his sofa lay across his shoulders instead and squeezed. 

“Glad you like it, Igs,” Gladio went on, nosing into sandy hair. “You ready to head home?” 

And again, Ignis sighed for the nth time. Gladio was warm and solid next to him, and he smelled of musk and amber cologne; a reassuring, steady presence in the otherwise-frenetic pace of his life. He smelled like warmth, safety … and rest. Ignis didn’t think he’d ever tire of waking up in his bed, wrapped up in those strong arms. 

“Not yet,” he finally said, “I’d like you to hold me for a while.” 

“You got it, Igs. Whatever makes you happy.” 

This time when he felt Gladio bend his head for a kiss, Ignis lifted his own and met him halfway instead; his lips were rough and chapped against his own and his stubble scratched slightly … but Ignis felt hardly anything besides love and warmth in it. 

When they broke, he tucked himself closer and closed his eyes, knees folding underneath so he might sit on his feet; the great arm over his shoulder and across his back left briefly, just long enough to grab the (festive) blanket and dragged it down over him. The sweater lay across their laps, and Ignis thumbed mindlessly over it as he allowed himself to drift off once more. 

* * *

When he’d started the search for _the_ sofa, Ignis knew it wasn’t for him. It decorated his office, sure, but he never expected to indulge in its comfort on his own; that privilege was saved for the Prince, his Shield, and his Friend. Ignis himself never expected to do more than sneak a lonely nap in here and there while the other sprawled all over the cushions like it belonged to them. 

But this – moments like this, when Gladio held him close and the smell of warm musk and amber filled his nose, and plush velveteen brushed against his bare feet and ankles – he felt no guilt or remorse for all the trouble and fuss caused by his desperate, dire search for the _right_ sofa. 

Like his friends – the brother he found in Noct – the precocious, unbridled energy forever oozing from Prompto – and the unconditional love that Gladio wrapped him in every day and night – the peacock blue couch was _perfect_.


End file.
